Métempsycose
by OhMyCroftIness
Summary: (Most likely not to be finished) John Watson is a man who works as a doctor and lives in 1888, in London, England. He had a younger sister whom he watched get murdered by a creature in which he calls a 'monster'. He has nightmares that haunt him in his future about this monster, yet refuses to admit, that this creature may be a Vampire.
1. Chapter 1

**Read the Notes at the bottom. . . **

**Rated M for sex scenes and/or gore scenes in later chapters to come.**

**For now, I rate this chapter T for bloody descriptions.**

**If you wish to see pictures of outfits/home etc. In the later chapter please read the story on my Ao3. A link can be found on my profile.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Name: <em>Haunted Memories<em>**

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><p><em>. . . Seveneth July, 1869<em>

_12.00.00 a.m_

Blood, on the curtains, floor, and he was sure it had to be on the matress where he and his elder sister had spent their childhood sleeping together when nightmares had plagued the younger, John Watson, this being one of those many night.

It had been only minutes ago, John had been rolling around on his mattress, his elder sister (of currently twelve), resting in a bed beside him. There was a soft comforting chuckle, and he didn't turn when he heard the soft patting of footsteps that he knew were only slightly louder then his.

"I saw you wake up earlier, can't go back to sleep?. . ." his sister's voice was soft, and it reminded him of his mother.

There was the rustling of the covers, as he turned on his side, to glance up at his sister, getting under the covers with him.  
>He sighed softly, his blonde hair clinging to his forehead a little because of the small amount of sweat that had gathered.<p>

"Mm, I always try to. . . but I just can't get the pictures out of my head," he nuzzled the covers a little, but then he moved out from under them and crawled until the ends of his small legs touched the ground with a soft patter.

He heard rustling, and glanced to see his sister sitting up, "Getting the book?" She asked, a slight grin on her face.

John scoffed softly, but moved over to his sister's bed, and leaned under it and searched for the book that his sister had read to him every time he had trouble sleeping, "Don't tease me, Harry, you know you like reading.."

He reached and reached, his hand patting around on dust that mum would say she didn't have time to clean, being to busy yelling with pa' to clean it up, and leaving marks on him and his sister. . He shook his head.

He soon felt his hand run across the rough cover of the book, and he reached out for it, finding himself all the way underneath the mattress. John grabbed it and held it up to his chest, smiling gently, sleep already coming to him at the thought of his sister's soothing voice reading it to him.

He soon found himself pausing, he hadn't heard a snarky remark from his sister, which was weird, he wondered if the elder had fallen asleep.  
>John felt a odd feeling in his chest, when he saw a red liquid splatter on the floor soundlessly, and he felt his body tense. He didn't move, and he also felt like he wasn't breathing, he couldn't hear. . . anything.<p>

He wondered what had happened to him, when he saw more red. It landed on his and Harry's curtains, the red seeping into the white and staining it.

He saw blood run down his sister's leg, and saw her leg twitching, but he didn't move. Everything was moving slowly, he moved his smaller head to glance at the reflection in the window, and he saw a monster. Eyes that were glowing red and seemed to be hypnotizing, he could see his sister, but he didn't look long. He only saw that she was stained red like everything else. His eyes had been captured by the monster's, and the monster gaze was looking back at him.

The monster moved his mouth to his sister's neck, and John closed his eyes. When he opened them he saw the monster actually licking at marks on his elder sister's neck, the marks gone like they had came.

The monster released his sister, and then he moved like he was in water, slowly, the sound coming back to the young boys ears. He realized that there was a dripping noise, and he was breathing heavily, and sobbing.

The monster moved toward him, and he saw that the water like motion was no longer taking him over. He saw the monster raise a clawed finger and drag it across his face, and he twitched, realizing that he was crying. The monster left a swipe of blood, and a giggle of laughter escaped as he licked the tear and some of the blood off the perpatrating finger. John could feel the feeling in his chest get worse, and his breathing started to get heavier.

The monster stood, and then he started to move toward the window, "See you in your nightmares, Dearie. . . Oh, and Happy Birthday. ."

John could not move as he heard the window open and close hearing the sound of the monster climbing out. It took him about ten more seconds, before he felt his body crawling across the blood stained floor with the little strength he had to his motionless sister. He moved behind her, feeling his breathing getting worse, as he lifted her head into his lap.

He started to rock back in forth blood staining his own clothes as his sister's head lolled to the side slowly, the book reading 'Jack and Jill and Other Tales' starting to soak with blood where he had left it.

He felt a scream erupt from his chest, but the silence had returned to him, and he ran a shaky hand through Harry's hair, feeling the rough movement of footsteps up the staircase.

He could see his mother and father moving through the door, and felt the movement of knees falling to the ground, as he glanced up and saw his father moving to his mother who had fallen, but then moved quickly out of the house to get a doctor that wouldn't help his poor sissy.

He kept rocking, when he felt the odd feeling in his chest growing more when his mother move close through glazed, tear falling, eyes. He felt another scream escape, how dare she try and touch her, when all she had done was cause her pain all the life she had been able to live.

He saw his mother move away, and soon he realized the feeling in his chest was the growing feeling of his _heart_ breaking.

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><p><span><em><strong>Read me!<strong>_

_**~So, if you read this previously you may have noticed there was a snipbit of a scene, I took that out. I plan to rewrite it and put it at the beginning of the next chapter. Sorry for that! The next chapter another character is introduced, don't want to say too much.~**_

_**Thank you for reading.**_

_**Reviews give me motivation for continuing, advice that isn't rude is accepted. **_


	2. Chapter 2

_Read and Review?_

_Just saying you enjoyed it makes me happy, and wants me to continue~_

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><p><em><strong>Chapter name: Memberance<strong>_

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><p><em><strong>1st of Apirl 1888<strong>_

John rubbed the edge of the cup of tea in his hand, watching as people moved along the night streets from his second story window in the small home he was currently residing in. He moved his eyes to glance at the sign that pointed to the lower part of his building that read, 'Watson Dentistry', the light currently off. He pulled away from the window, slowly moving over to the mirror that was resting against his wall and placing his cup on top of the fireplace.

When John moved into this home, he had no idea what to do with the downstairs area.( too small to rent it out to anyone ) He always had been working in offices, when he first became a dentist, and he soon got the terrific idea( in _his_ mind ) to make the extra space into a home business, leaving the upstairs to himself, as a living space. He stretched out slightly, glancing over his tired figure in the mirror, and running his fingers over the fireplace's rim. He pulled his hand up to reveal dust that he ran his hands together to get rid of.

He let out a soft sigh as he fixed the black bow tie that was resting against his neck, moving his hand to run across the tail coat that moved over his body, and dusting off dirt that was non existent.

He wrinkled his face up as he felt the nervousness ringing through his body slowly building up more and more. He let out a soft sigh and ran a hand through his short blonde hair. He moved away from the mirror, leaving his cup deserted on the fireplace. He moved to his kitchen table picking up a small piece of parchment, looking at the indian ink that was scrawled across it.

**_- - -Dear Sir John Hamish Watson,_**  
><strong><em>We humbly incourage your appearance at the Watson manor, for a celebration of the returning of Master Watson from his adventures overseas. We are sure he will be englightened to see you.<em>**  
><strong><em>Retainers of the Watson Manor<em>**  
><strong><em>Date. . . - - -<em>**

John placed the parchment down, not bothered with reading the date and time again, as he moved his fingers to grasp at the rim of his nose trying to hold back the headache he felt raging forth. He moved his free hand to rest on the kitchen table as if to steady himself, he was lucky that the dentistry was already closed. He didn't wish for any of his customers from the lower levels to see him in such a state when he had to head out to his father's get together.

He moved back over to the mirror now focusing on the slight bags under his eyes, and letting another sigh rake through him. He would have to ask April to take care of the business for awhile so he could try and catch on his sleep.

He had moved his gaze slightly downward, and when he glanced upward he saw something. Something he had grown use to seeing, for 19 years. In the reflection of the mirror, moving toward him slowly, with a small and gentle smile on her slightly cherubic face, was his twelve-year-old sister in the last outfit he had seen her in.

He smiled at her in the mirror, before slowly turning to her and moving toward her, kneeling to her height slowly. She smiled gently, and leaned a hand up to place on John's cheek gently, the feeling null and void, unfeeling. He kept his smile up still, and placed his hand on hers gently.

"Hello, Dear Sister, I bet you would love to see me forced to dress up like this. . ." His voice was ringing into the empty room, and all his sister kept doing was smiling.

"I have to go to a greeting party for our father if you were wondering wh-" before his words were able to finish, his sister pulled her hand, causing John's hand to continue floating just above his cheek slightly.

He felt his face contort, as he watched Harry move away from him the way she came, her body slowly disapearing. It was always the same, it was not like anything was different. He knew it was always going to be this way, the only way he would ever be able to see his sister would be in his imagination.

After he saw his sister disapear into the depths of his torn-apart head, he felt his body move up and grab the invitation, He moved his body over to his door and inclined down the staircase putting on the 'mask' he wore all the time. He moved through his dentistry and out his front door, shutting it silently.

**_~.*.*.*.~_**

It wasn't too cold, but it was cold enough to make John shiver slightly and curl into himself as he moved down the sidewalk. He knew that the manor wasn't very far so he didn't call for a stagecoach for transport knowing it would just be a waste of money. He moved his hands into his pocket feeling around for the gloves he had brought just in case, his hand grazing the parchment he had grabbed before leaving.

His felt the cloth under his finger tips and he pulled the two white gloves out and slipped them on, breathing onto his hands. He glanced up at the places he was passing knowing he was getting closer. He could hear the chatter, and see a small line of people and stage coaches outside of his father's home. He held back another sigh, knowing that he would soon set a record if he didn't stop.

He moved toward the entrance and past all the cold people receiving some glares from people who were obviously 'trying their best to impress' as they say. When he got to the front door, glancing at the two current retainers there and pulling out the parchment and opening it to hand to one of them. He waited patiently as he glanced over it, his eyes widening slightly, "Sir Watson, Please come in, sorry if you had to wait,".

He heard people whispering, and glanced over slightly. When he did, there were girls giggling softly, and a couple people who were giving him glares were now just nodding in acknowlegment. But, he wasn't focusing on any of them.

He was focused on a tall slender male, with a dark blue masquerade mask that had diamonds around the edges. The mask only covered his eyes, and a small skull was dangling from the corner like spectacles with string would have. He had almost black curls that were resting behind the mask, and skin that was the color of Ivory. He felt mesmerized, and he watched as a glint flashed through the gray eyes that were coming out from the holes in the mask that was resting on the ivory skin.

". . .atson. . .Sir, Watson" The retainer cleared his voice, as John blinked glancing forward and focusing again.

"Sorry, I have these mo-. . Just, sorry," He started to move forward, glancing over toward where he had been looking before to see the man was farther up in line and that no one seemed to notice. He glanced downward quickly, forcing himself to go into the doors quicker, and glancing upward as the doors shut behind him. He knew it was coming, and he straightened himself up.

"Sir John Hamish Watson, Son of Albert Regertis Watson has arrived. ." Another retainer moved over toward John and pulled his parchment out quickly, as he read off his full name, not needing to read off his father's. All the gazes in the room moved to him, as the retainer bowed and moved away. The whispers started throughout the medium sized ballroom that he was standing in the front of, and after he realized his father wasn't in the room, he just nodded to the guests.

He navigated himself over to a small corner, and away from the doors that were opening and closing to let people in, announcing the people who were important enough to be known and just letting the others move slowly around the area. He settled himself in the corner of the room where the less amount of people were. It wasn't that he didn't like people, it was just nobles and anyone that pretty much was interested in attending his father's parties.

After his mother had passed away, his father had mourned by taking all the money he had gotten from spreading all the Watson Clinic's, and then going and doing whatever the bloody hell he wanted to do with it. He knew that his father had given him money but that was it, he had to go and figure out how to become a dentist himself. When he turned seventeen he moved out and started to take care of himself. His father didn't really care much anyway. John dragged his eyes around the crowd of people, for some reason he found himself now looking to see if the masked man had slipped inside while he had been day dreaming, but to no avail he did not seem him.

Just as he was about to set his record for sighs in one day, the doors opened and the retainer scurried over quickly holding another parchment. The door had been blocking the view of who had just entered, but they shut now revealing exactly who John had been thinking of.

The male had a long coat that trailed behind as the door shut, the skull swinging slightly as he walked, when he moved into the room it was similar to all the air leaving it in one fell swoop. The male didn't move his gaze around the crowd, he just stood waiting to be introduced.

The retainer scrambled across the words on the parchment, "S-Sir, William Sherlock Scott Holmes. . . Son of Master Reginald Alexander Holmes. . ." there were immediate gasps, in the crowd and loud whispers, as the retainer bowed and moved away quickly almost falling with his shock.

John felt his eyes widen as he listened to the whispers,

". . . but, they are recluses, haven't left that cob-webbed manor in ages"

". . . my cousin said she saw Reginald digging in his yard when she was walking by there"

"So. . . why is he here?"

"Then why would he come here?"

"And the Watson manor, no reason to be interested in Albert, right?"

John had of course heard the rumours, he just had never seen the man, so he couldn't of guessed that the man he was so caught up with was a actual Holmes. He let out a breath that he didn't know he was been holding. He watched this . . . William, move slowly, the coat bellowing behind him, he slowly took a couple steps forward, as he glanced around, seeming to be looking for someone in the crowd of people.

But, he soon turned his gaze to John, and John tensed as he watched this,William, move toward him, he just felt like the name did not suit him. He swallowed, as he inched closer, moving to stand up straighter.

"John Watson? I have seen you and your father Albert's pictures in the newspapers. I had been gandering around for your father and I did not see him, so I thought I would come to you and talk to you. . instead" His voice was a deep baritone rumble, and John felt like he should be watching the male's chest move with each word that left his mouth.

"Ahh, Yes, He is probably still preparing, but yes, I am John. William Holmes?" The name William before Holmes, felt weird on Johns lips. He moved his hand out of his pocket, and lifted it to shake the others hand pausing to take the glove off before moving it up again.

There was a soft rumble of laughter, once again John waiting for the others chest to move with the movement, "Oh, no, I go by Sherlock Holmes, disregard the other two inane names, and just call me Sherlock," Sherlock moved his hand to John's and shook his hand firmly.

John was surprised by how cold his hand was, and he glanced down at it slightly, but then looked upward at the other and pulled his hand away smiling gently, as he slipped his glove back on.

Sherlock eyes seemed to scan over John making him slightly uncomfortable, and he soon moved his gaze to the others eyes. John blinked and cleared his throat.

"So, what was it that you needed to talk to me and my father about?"

Sherlock's eyes stopped wandering, and he moved his eyes back to rest on John's. One of the retainers that John didn't notice started to play the violin to a melody that he didn't know, and John glanced over curiously, some people moving over to dance on the ball floor.

Sherlock glanced over at the people moving across the ballroom floor, one hand resting behind his back and the other just by his side.

" . . . There are going to be some things that are going to start commencing. . . These things are going to be rather tragic, and they are going to start, I would have to say, in the next three days or so. . ."

John's face contorted slightly, what was he playing at, was he just messing around with him? Why would it matter to John, a lot of bad things happened in London, it wasn't like it had anything to do with him. . . right?

"John, please, and why are you telling me this? Does it have something to do with me?"

Sherlock didn't move his gaze away from the people moving on the ballroom floor, keeping his back to John, which was making him pretty angry. He heard him make a soft sound close to tsking.

"Are you that shortsighted, John? Let's not state the obvious here now, of course it has something to do with you, otherwise I would not of told you,"

John stiffened, that sure was a change of character, he felt himself chuckle softly.

"Oh, Sherlock, you sure are sweet, so then, would you be obliged to fill me in with what these horrid events have to do with me?"

John asked rocking on his feet with a sarcastic smile on his face, and his hands clasped behind his back.

Sherlock finally turned toward him, his eyes had a certain gleam to them, and he was holding a sarcastic smile also, "The person who is going to cause them. . . is interested in you. ." His voice still had the odd rumble and John was upset that he found it slightly soothing, a feeling he hadn't gotten before when listening to it.

John raised his eyebrow the smile still on his face, and he just nodded, "Mhm, alright, , if you do say so. I guess I am obliged to believe you ,when these events start to happen, then I definetly will," John said, knowing this man was most likely just a psychopath.

" I am a high-functioning sociopath, not a psychopath, and your next question, is the inane, 'How did you?' and the answer. . . Is that everyone thinks the same thing. . . And you my dear Watson, seem to me, just like everyone else. . ." Sherlock's voice rumbled again as he chuckled, and received a dagger like glare from John.

It made no sense, how he knew exactly what he was thinking, but he couldn't help but to find it interesting, either way he just wanted to get away from this man. He started to move away from him shaking his head, but he felt coldness envelop his arm as Sherlock grabbed at it, and held him still.

"After the first. . . incident happens, come to the Holmes residence, and we can talk there. This person, that is going to cause these problems, he isn't just a ordinary person and these, things, are not just something that will be forgotten. It will be etched into history, they arn't just going to be incidents they are going to be murders, and this person isn't a person. He is a monster, and the murder that those inane idiots will think is his first, is not. Your sister, Harriet Elizabeth Watson, was his first victim."

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><p><em><strong>Thanks for reading, I decided to write another chapter to maybe catch more people into it.<strong>_

_**Sooo, here it is, hehehe, cliffhanger?**_

_**I think I like where I am going to with this, reviews are accepted pleassseee 3**_

_**And thanks to the person who reviewed the first chapter~**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Name: Sheild**

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><p><strong><span>A<span>** small scream had erupted from the crowd of people who were dancing along the ballroom floor. Before John even had time to process what he was doing he had raised his fist and connected it with the taller male,Sherlock's, ivory face. He, himself, stumbled back slightly blood trickling down from how hard he had slammed his fist into the others face. He had half expected the others skin to break like porcelain, but thoughts like that barely made it through the anger that was seething through his head at the fact that Sherlock so simply brought up his sister's death.

The only thing that broke out of Sherlock in the end was a deep rumble of laughter, as he sat up from where he had fallen, to the ground. He had a hand covering his face and his mask had skidded across the floor. He slowly rose to his feet, people in the room had made sure to get as far away as they could, as if John would turn into a animal and eat them. John was panting softly, holding his hand slightly close to his face as if he was trying to hide his heavy breathing.

"Do you, just. . . bloody well _fucking _think, that you can. . ." John felt himself trailing off as his head slightly twitched to the side, and then downward as he shook it with the anger still coursing through him as he watched Sherlock standing from the floor.

"I do apologize if I offended you, I will see myself out, sorry for intruding, and hope to see you soon, " his voice had a hint of sarcasm that John could cleary hear. He watched as Sherlock bowed, keeping a hand over his face, but John could see what looked like a marking of some sort beside the others eye.

"Get_ out_, You dodgy blighter" his words almost seemed to steam with the anger released from him, and some of the larger of the retainers moved over to help Sherlock out. Sherlock raised the hand that he wasn't using to cover his face, to them, and then moved to the door. A small glint of a smirk was visible as he opened the doors and let the cold air move into the ballroom as he left.

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><p><strong><span>A<span>**fter Sherlock and John had their little show, the party slowly returned to dancing and drinking like most of his father's parties. John had moved to his corner again, glancing at his fist, and sighing softly. He still couldn't believe the audacity of Sherlock, he had always been sensitive about his sister. Even though Sherlock seemed to be going on about some other crazy subject, he just felt himself snap at the mention of his sister even though he found himself curious about how Sherlock had found all this out susposedly. John blinked, was he really believing in this lunatic? That there was some 'monster' who was going to start killing people, and that that this monster was. . He shook his head, this 'Sherlock' probably wasn't even the Sherlock everyone knew. He probably was just some Billy no-mates who was straight out of the loony bin, and was going around telling people, 'Oh look, I think I'm blooming smart, and I do whatever the bloody hell I want'. John's face contorted as he realized he was having one of his many moments, and he opened his eyes, not even realizing he had closed them.

He glanced around seeing that everyone had started to move along the ball room floor again. He sighed, wondering if his father would ever come out, he really just wanted to get home and try to get some of the sleep that he had lost. John moved over to a retained and asked him for a handkerchief for the cuts on his fist, and after a couple seconds the Retainer turned and handed him one. He soon gently dabbed at the cuts wincing only slightly, as he headed back to his corner.

When he had moved his glance up, he moved his gaze, over the crowed, his eyes falling on a head of hair that was dark brown, with some pieces of grey coming through it. He blinked, he was barely in hearing distance from the man, but he slowly moved toward him.

"Gregory, Is that you, mate?" His voice was soft as he lifted a hand to the male's white sleeve, the man hadn't really been talking to anyone, just seemed to be standing in the crowd. The male's face seemed to contort slightly, before he moved his gaze downward only slightly to look at John, his eyes widening, and then a small smile appearing on his face.

"John! Oh, John, I just got here, I was hoping I'd see you, I am so happy I ran into you, bloody hell. . . you have no idea what I went through to get a invitation!" Gregory said softly, chuckling and raising a gentle hand to rest on John's shoudler. Gregory had on a brown vest with intricate designs and a white shirt underneath, with a pair of black trousers.

John felt a small smile raise to his face, him and Gregory had met when they had to work in the coal mines together, for about seven years or so, right after Harry. . .

"It is so good to see you again, It seems you found some good notes after working in the coal mines too, mate." John said, chuckling softly, and reaching up to pat the other male's shoulder gently also.

He blinked softly, "So, eh. . . Did you see that incident a couple of minutes ago?" John asked glancing over Gregory's features as he raised one of his eyebrows.

"No, I just arrived, before I started talking to you, wanna explain over some drinks?" He asked, gently pulling John along toward the drink table.

John had explained about how the susposable Holmes boy came in and caused all the trouble and then what he had said about Harry and the murders.

John and Gregory had taken a seat in some chairs by the a spiral staircas that he knew led to his father's library. He watched as Gregory listened to him explain the story, his face contorting slightly at the end, as he shook his head seeming to know something. John raised his eyebrow slightly, speaking softly after taking a sip of his drink.

"What is it, you seem like you know something?" he asked softly glancing over at the other from the edge of his drink.

Gregory glanced over at him and placed his glass down gently, "You see, after all the things in the coal mines, I found my work with being the police. . . Specifically I have become a Detective. This person that you think is a looney is actually Sherlock, and he is actually a genuis, he helps me with a lot cases. I just have to go to his manor with all the information, cause he never leaves. . ." The male mumbled, watching John's reaction closely, his eyes seemed to be swimming.

John blinked, "Oh, well. So, then do you think he is right, about the case. . . And Harriet, I mean it just seems far fetched, don't you think?" He asked and Gregory shrugged.

"I guess we will find out in a couple of days," he said softly, and he leaned back in his chair sipping his sighed softly, and he glanced over the people in the crowd of people moving his hand to rest on the arm rest of the chair. He noticed a female with redish/brown hair moving toward him, she had on a long black dress that John did have to say was rather beautiful. He glanced over at her as she moved putting his drink down, and just smiling at her gently.

She moved closer, until she was at arm's reach her eyes seemed to be almost gray but it was obvious when she got closer they were blue. She nodded at Gregory who nodded back.

"Detective Lestrade, and you are John Watson, Correct? I am Elizabeth Adler, it is a pleasure to meet you," She spoke softly holding her hand out to John with a gentle grace.

John stood slowly, and leaned forward a little taking her hand in his and kissing the backside of her hand, before raising up, "The pleasure is mine, Call me John," He said a soft smile on his face, which was returned by Elizabeth.

"Would you like to dance, John?" She asked contining to smile, and glancing over at the ballroom floor.

He knew he would have to dance sooner or later, it was rude not to, he glanced at Greg and then Greg just nodded at him, and moved to go and offer another female to dance.

"It would be my Honor," He gently took Ms. Adler's hand in his, and moved to the ballroom floor, one hand behind his back as he slowly started to moved her along the floor, greeting some others as he moved.

"It seems you do not enjoy your father's parties very much?" Elizabeth spoke softly glancing at John as they moved, some stray curls of hers were resting over her collarbone complimenting her skin.

John put up a gentle smile, "It has just been a long week. I was planning on stopping by and asking a few beautiful women to dance, and then having a chat with my father. I am happy to say, I have accomplished one thing on my check list," He said just moved her around gracefully, with the sound of the music.

Elizabeth seemed to smile more at his words, "Such kind words, I always thought that someone of such a known family may be prissy, but you are pretty interesting." She said a soft and nice chuckle coming from her voice.

Soon the song ended, and they seperated, John bowed to her and then they stepped to the side to speak once again.

"So, I suspose that had said something pretty rude to upset someone as kind as you?" She asked as she stood gracefully beside him.

"Mm, something about a family member, it is not too much a deal, I obviously let it out," He said, moving a hand to rest on the small of Elizabeth's back.

They continued to talk, mainly about how ridiculous some of the people in their dresses looked. Some of the females having the humps that would reside under their dresses making it look like two people were wearing them, he never really knew what the dresses were called but he wasn't a huge fan of them. They laughed with each other gently, Elizabeth keeping up a certain type of ettiquette. When it started to get too late, John sighed softly, he knew his dad did this a lot. He would always have his parties but then sleep in the whole day and forget.

"Well, , I am afraid I must be going, my coach is suspose to be arriving now. . . Is there a way I could find you?" Elizabeth had now turned toward him and the smile had returned.

"Oh, well is you ever need me, you can come by the Watson Dentistry, it is at 221B Baker Street, I live in the upstairs, but I am usually working downstairs," He said softly smiling.

Elizabeth just nodded, and leaned forward to kiss John's cheek gently, before heading toward the door, the retainers holding it open for her as she moved out. He sighed happily, and glanced around, Greg was starting toward the doors now too. "I will see you later John, where can I find you?" He asked the same question, and John told him the same answer and then Greg nodded and headed out the doors.

The ballroom was mostly empty and he sighed, a retainer making his way toward John.

"Sir Watson, Master Albert states that if you ever need him for a emergency to come here again, and that he is terribly sorry he was unable to make it to talk with you," The retainer didn't wait for a reply, he just moved away after bowing.

John huffed softly, and ran a hand through his blonde hair, and sighed, moving toward the doors also.

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><p><strong><span>J<span>**ohn had returned home, and had moved to his room to try and get some sleep. He had stripped of his tail coat and the rest of his clothing, changing into a pair of silk pajamas. He was now resting on his back, with his eyes closed, taking long and slow breathes. John had never really had problems with going to sleep, it was just that he was scared too.

Ever since Harriet had passed away, he had had bad nightmares involving, 'the thing' that he had saw. It wasn't like the same dream over it over again, it was different scenarios. But, tonight he needed to get some sleep, he had to try and work with a right mindset for once, so he slowly let himself fall under.

_He was moving down a long hallway, with multiple doors, trying to open each one, but everytime he tried they never would open, and he knew he was being followed. He started to walk faster, pulling at the doors of the endless hallway, but to no avail none of them opened. He kept trying, and trying, soon breaking into a run, as he heard the footsteps behind him getting louder and louder. He soon heard soft laughter added with the footsteps and he wanted to run faster, but he knew he had to try and open the doors, fear was creeping up from his stomach. But, at the end of the hall, he saw a light, and the laughter behind him faltered slightly but the footsteps didn't. He started to run toward the light soon realizing it was a bright white door. He moved toward it quickly yanking and yanking as hard as he could, until the door swung open. _

_He flinched back slightly, as a bright light came through the door,he whimpered with fear, as he heard more laughter. He leaned forward to get away but he hit something hard and tried to jerk back again. But, strong arms wrapped around him, cold, strong arms._

_"Shh, you are safe. . . " He glanced up, and the man who had caused so much havoc earliar was standing there holding him gently, Sherlock. But all he could see was his black curls, the light was blocking out the rest of his features, soon all the fear in John was slowly fading, all he could think was that he felt so very safe in those arms._

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><p><strong>Please Read and Review as Usual.<strong>

If you are interested in Lestrade's outift, It is similar to this:  
>stylemens-4-pocket-style-steampunk-vest/  
>If you are Interested in Elizabeth Adler's outfit it is similar to this:<br>.

Slang used  
>Billy No-Mates: Someone with no friends<br>Blighter:Guy, usually used to refer to someone who is higher class.  
>Blooming: Darned, not as bad as Bloody which means damned.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Name: Fake**

* * *

><p><span><strong>J<strong>ohn woke up the next morning to the sunlight creeping through a opening where his curtains were slightly open. It was different for him, he was use to waking up in a cold sweat, and he enjoyed waking up comfortable for once. He turned on his side and pulled the covers up slightly, trying to hide the sunlight slightly. John was curious what he must of dreamed of for him to not of woke up scared. After awhile, he sighed and sat up, trying his best to remember, but nothing would come back to him. He moved away from his bed, stretching once he was fully standing up. He glanced over at his bathroom door, slowly letting his feet glide along the floor till he was in front of his mirror. He had to try and work today, so he got out his razor and some shaving cream and left it resting on the bathroom counter. He started to get a jar and filled it with water to fill his tub, continuing the process.

He kept trying to remember what had happened in his dream, but the only things that were coming back were doors and a hallway. He ran his hand along the tub water until it rested on the knee, letting out a soft sigh. He hummed at the warm water moving down his body, and stood up, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. He dried his hair off slightly with a rag and then moved to shave. He then glanced at all the water in the tuband grabbed his jar again, opening his window. It was luckily just a deserted back alleyway, so he started to lift the water out of the tub until it was empty again.

Once he was finished in the bathroom he moved out to put on his brown waistcoat, and grabbing his silver pocket watch. He sighed and glanced at himself in the mirror. His face contorted, and he moved over to his drawers and grazed through them pulling out a piece of cloth with some unique designs on it that reminded him of Lestrade's outfit that he had liked. He smiled and moved to the mirror tieing the cloth around his neck and then moving down the staircase to flip the sign to open, letting the customers come inside.

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><p>The day went by pretty slowly, but John was in a better mood because of the sleep he was able to get the night before. When it was time to close up shop he moved to grab his jacket, and turned the sign to closed. He decided to go on a walk through the night streets of London. It wasn't a very warm April, then again it never really was in London. He hummed softly as he walked smiling at some people as he moved. There were a lot of stage coaches moving through the streets the horses pulling them around with loud clacks along the ground.<p>

John's face contorted when he heard a soft noise coming from the edge of the sidewalk. He paused and turned his head to the noise, a small box with one small black kitten in it mewing softly residing where he turned his gaze. He sighed, and leaned to the cat, and put his hand inside the box, but the cat didn't move toward his hand, it kept mewing like it didn't seem him. He glanced the cat over, seeing that it had bright blue eyes, he sighed.

"Are you blind little one? How tragic. ." He moved his hand to run over the cat's fur. The cat flinched at first, but then relaxed and leaned into his touch, he smiled gently.

"Well, I guess I have no choice," He hummed softly and he lifted the cat up running his fingers through it's fur gently, and checking for the cat's gender, and seeing he was a male.

"You'll have to come with me Mister," He said smiling gently, as the cat rubbed up against him. He chuckled softly, soon turning around to head back to his home. He moved across the sidewalk silently, keeping a comforting hand on the kitten to make sure he knew he was safe.

When he arrived back at Baker Street he came in and locked the door behind him, moving up the staircase. John moved into his room, placing the kitten onto his bed, as he undressed and started to get ready for bed. When he was dressed for bed, he moved over to lay down beside the kitten. He lifted him up and placed him beside him, running a hand along his fur.

"I wonder what I should name you. ." He hummed softly, glancing the cat over as he thought. The kitten mewed softly and moved to cuddle by John's chest.

"Mm, I think Edgar Allan Poe is a good name for you, Edgar for short of course," He purred in response, and nuzzled back agianst John's chest again seeming to be happy with the name.

John chuckled softly, and closed his eyes, "Mm. . I like it too," he spoke softly, falling into another deep sleep.

* * *

><p><span><strong>G<strong>regory had had a long day at work, he was just now making his way out of the police deparment with some papers in his hands that he was wanting to take to the Holmes Manor. He sighed softly holding all the papers against his chest as he moved along the sidewalk, just plannig to walk home. He was wearing a suit that was slightly torn, and a tie that had some stains on it that he was trying to hide with the papers in his arms. He sighed softly pushing his hair out of his face as he moved along.

Gregory had noticied that _that_ stagecoach was slowly pulling along beside him, but he chose to try and ignore it. He stole a couple of glances at it, and only huffed with annoyance. After awhile the person who was controlling the horses cleared his voice.

"Detective Lestrade, Please get in the Coach," He said and the coach pulled to a stop.

Lestrade paused, and sighed softly, moving over and climbing inside the back door, where the curtains were drawn tightly, shutting the door behind him. The carriage slowly started to move again once he was inside, and he moved the papers he was holding to his lap. He glanced over at the male who was resting beside him sighing at the fancy clothing he had on.

"I wish you coulda' gave me more outfits like you did for the Watson's party," Lestrade spoke softly, pushing a hand through his hair.

The male beside him crossed one leg over the other, and just glanced over at Lestrade from the corner of his eye. He had dark brown hair that had a slight red tint to it, and eyes that were grayish blue like Sherlock's.

"I am sorry to inform you, , that the outfit that I offered you was a one time thing," He said softly, a umbrella rested in his lap.

"I know, it was just a nice change, Mycroft" He mumbled softly, crossing one leg over the other and leaning against the door, "Now I know we arn't here to talk about fashion," he said glancing at Mycroft.

Mycroft ran a hand over the umbrella in his lap, his skin was a ivory color just like Sherlock's, also. "Mm, yes, I was wondering how our Watson was doing? With our current circumstances, I am sure you know how important it is for you to watch over him for us. . You are the only one that my brother and I have trusted to tell about our past," He spoke without looking at Lestrade, his outfit seeming to glow in the small light of the coach.

"Nothing really happened after your Brother left the ball, just some lady asked him to dance, that's about it. I haven't really talked to John since, considering it's only been a day since I say him," he mumbled softly, slight sarcasm in his voice.

"Well, maybe you should go visit him soon, these murders are going to start happening soon. I already know he will come to Sherlock, " Mycroft said, looking through a peek of the curtain on the window, the coach soon came to a stop, "Well, Mr. Lestrade, I do hope to seen you soon, and if you have a emergency you do know how to find me quickly," Mycroft spoke with such kindess that Lestrade could never tell if he really cared or not. He just had such of a 'evil villian' demanor that he couldn't help to think he had ulterior motives. Well, he was a-

"Detective Lestrade? We have arrived at your resisdance. . ? Unless you wish to come to the manor, for a bite to eat ?" He asked, a small smile coming onto his face as he spoke.

Lestrade's eyes widened, and he shook his head quickly, picking up his papers, and opening the coache door, "No, no thank you, maybe some other time. , Bye!" He said rushing out and moving inside of his home quickly.

Mycroft chuckled softly, "How charming. . " he said softly, as the stagecoach started to ride off.

* * *

><p><span><strong>S<strong>herlock was resting on the edge of his bed, when he ran a hand through his hair, and stood up, moving to open his window. Cold air drifted in, stinging his cheeks, as he leaned on the window pane glancing up at the stars in the night sky. He tapped his fingers on his thigh impatiently, when he heard soft crying and he glanced around the street surronding his home. A small boy, was rubbing at his eyes and crying softly, a small cat was laying motionless in his arms. Sherlock's face contorted slightly.

Death. Something that even he could not prevent. Life was something tragic that everyone was forced to live through, and he despised it. He moved away from the window, and over to his piano and placed a hand on it gently, running his fingers over the edge of the wood. The piano started to play itself, and he felt his feet gliding across the floor, the soft sound of the keys tapping coming out. He knew no matter what he tried to do he would always be dragged toward him, it was a bodily reaction, something he couldn't stop himself from doing. He turned in a circle, stumbling slightly as some harsh memories flooded through his head.

He remembered a time from long ago, when it was so easy for him to glide along the floor without faltering, but then things changed, and now Sherlock couldn't even remember which way to step. He tried to move his legs more gracefully but he kept failing, soon just falling back onto his bed in silence. He wished his brother would just let him do as he wished, but he knew he was just doing it try and protect him. He closed his eyes, and swayed his hand to the piano keys tapping away.

He would save John Watson this time. He had too, even if it meant sacrificing his own life.

* * *

><p>2 Apirl 1888<p>

**L**uckily for John, he didn't have to work to work on Tuesdays because April took care of it, so he could sleep in a little late. He didn't wake up till around ten. He stirred slowly, once again unable to remain what he had dreamed about. He sighed softly, slight movement had him blinking in confusion until he remember Edgar, and then he smiled gently.

"Morning,Edgar" He said softly, a soft meow returned, the cat sitting beside his head was swishing its tail happily.

He would have to go out and buy a cage and milk for the cat today. He sat up and stretched, yawning softly, and glancing to check the exact time before moving out of bed to get ready for the day.

Once John was dressed for the day, he glanced himself over in the mirror and nodded to himself in approval. He moved his gaze over to Edgar resting on the bed and then smiled. He moved to pick him up gently in his arms, letting the cat drape itself on his arm gently.

Edgar started to purr gently, closing his eyes and resting against John's chest. John started to move toward his door, knowing that most stores didn't care about cats so he could take Edgar inside. He opened the upstairs door and then moved down the stairs pausing to see the buisness wasn't too packed.

April was resting at the desk, flipping through some book. John cleared his throat and she flinched, and almost through the book across the room. He chuckled softly, and moved toward her slowly.

"Not very busy I see, April," He said softly, and her face contorted but she nodded. Her eyes moved to the cat, and then she spoke up.

"I told you to call me Molly, I wanna start going by it, please. ." She mumbled softly, and then she gazed at the cat more, making John raise his eyebrow.

"I didn't know you had a cat," She said softly and she reached a hand out to run over his fur gently, receiving a soft meow, and making her smile gently.

John explained about how he had found Edgar, and then that he had to go out and buy some things for the kitten, and then April just nodded gently.

"Cya, be careful, rumours 'bout some weird guy wondering around the streets last night," She said then picked up her book and started to flip through it gently.

John just nodded, now realizing the book was 'Dracula'.

John moved to the front door and pushed it open gently, the bell tingling gently as he left. John moved down the streets humming a soft tune as he did, and glancing around for a pet shop that allowed animals. It was a normal day, pretty cold, and people moving around the busy streets of London quickly to try and get to where ever they were trying to go.

His eyes soon fell upon a shop that stated that animals were allowed and he smiled gently. He let his feet move him over to the store quickly. He moved inside, a bell ringing and a thick scottish accent greeting him. He hummed softly, for once feeling happy for the first time in awhile.

He moved to the cage isle first, and glanced over the different kinds that they bell to the shop rang out gently, as another customer entered. John didn't really pay attention as he scanned over the different types of cages still, rubbing at his chin with his free hand, when he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Well, are you stalking me now, Detective?" John said chuckling, looking over at Gregory who was standing behind him and smiling gently.

"Oh, of course, I love watching you shave every morn," He said joking, but he seemed a little nervous. John noticed that his clothes looked a little rougher then usual, but didn't really care about it.

"Oh, look at this beauty," Gregory said softly, moving his hand to scratch behind Edgar's ear gently.

"If he keeps getting attention, he's going to become conceited," John said as the kitten leaned into the touch.

They continued to have small talk, Gregory helping John to pick out some out a good cage, before they moved to the checkout. John was starting to get confused why Greg had even came to the pet store, when the male lifted up a small cage. He explained that he didn't have a cat, but that the police station had a lot of strays and when it got cold, he thought that he'd put a blanket in the cage and leave it open for them. John just smiled at that and then continued to check out.

When they had finished checking out, they had went to get some milk, and then Greg had walked John home. John invited Gregory in, but, Greg said he had some detective stuff to do, and then went on his way. John was now resting in his bathroom floor, putting a blanket in his cage so he could rest there in the day time. He then moved to pick up Edgar and let him smell the blanket and cage so he knew where it was. He did the same with his milk that he . He smiled as he watched Edgar exploring with ease, sometimes bumping into things, but other then that he seemed fine.

The day was slowly coming to a end and John had started go ahead and undress for the night. Edgar was running around and messing with a small piece of cotton. John smiled gently, and moved to pick up the small kitten and then moved to his bed with the cat in his arms. Edgar mewed softly, trying to paw at the cotton that was no longer there, making John chuckle.

"Time for sleep, little one," He said running his hands along Edgar's fur. He could swear the cat was pouting, but he laid down beside John. John smiled gently, he was happy he took the little Black Cat in, it had made his days a lot happier. He leaned over and blew out the candles on his shandiler and then laid back down running his hands down the cats fur gently. Edgar started to pur and leaned forward to lick John's cheek gently. John chuckled and closed his eyes, keeping his fingers running along his fur until he felt himself falling under.

* * *

><p><span><strong>J<strong>ohn found himself waking the next morning pretty early, the sun was just starting to come up, and the warmth of Edgar wasn't beside him. He sat up slowly glancing around questionally. Soon something dripped onto his cheek and he moved his hand to wipe at it.

Blood. John's hand started to shake. He felt silence envelop him, before his head slowly raised to the shandalier above his bed. Edgar was hanging from a rope, no longer moving, one eye was gouged out. John covered his mouth so he didn't scream, but he didn't stop himself from falling off the bed. His breathing got heavier, and he stood up to open his window to try and and let the cold morning air calm his breaths.

But when he moved his curtains aside, he couldn't hold back the soft yelp that escaped him.

Scrawled across the window with Edgar's blood was spelled out.

'First is the Black Cat, Then comes the Fire. Cya soon. . '

* * *

><p><em><strong>R.I.P<strong>_  
><em>Edgar<br>__Apirl 2nd 1888_

John's upper outfit: .  
>Mycroft's upper Outfit: .<p>

I was kind of freaked out how much this song if similar to Sherlock's little POV. I highly suggest listening to it, and reading the lyrics, so maybe after reading Sherlock's little snip bit, stop to listen and read the lyrics.  
>watch?v=nlK0zYZLBGY<p> 


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Title: ****_Closer_**

**J**ohn hadn't told anyone about what had happened to Edgar. After seeing Edgar hung, he had moved to the bathroom, and retched up everything that he had eaten the night before. Not because he was disgusted, more because of slight fear and overwhelming sadness. He took a couple of minutes to calm himself, before grabbing a rag with some cleaning supplies, and moving out hesitantly to his room again.

He removed Edgar from the chandelier, wrapping him in some blankets, then placing him in a box. He grabbed some of the piece of cotton he was placing with, and placed it beside him, before putting the lid on the box gently. He had blood on his hands, and had left the blood stained rag on the floor from where he was scrubbing the blood off the window. He didn't know how long he had been sitting there silently, but he was startled back to reality by the sound of a commotion outside, which he paid no mind too. He moved himself to the bathroom and cleaned the rag and his hands of the blood, then cleaned out the sink. He of course was not planning on telling anyone about this, he never liked unnecessary attention. He was in the midst of washing his hands, when he say water starting to drip into the sink. He blinked, glancing up at the ceiling to see if there was a leak, but he saw nothing. John let his gaze move to the mirror, his eyes falling upon tears that were slowly slipping down his cheeks.

He quickly wiped at them as he turned the water off. He should of known he could not be happy for long, things never went the way he planned. He moved out of the bathroom, clearing his throat, as he moved to pick up the box with Edgar inside. John moved to his closet picking out a simple outfit, and placing the box down again. He slipped his clothes on, and then moved to just slip on his jacket from the day before. He was not in the mood to try to look his best and he was planning to just ask April to watch over the shop again, knowing she wouldn't mind. He moved out the door at the top of the stairs, locking the door behind him, and then moving down the stairs and pausing at April's desk.

He was surprised to find she wasn't there, which was very weird, April was never late for work. He glanced at the sign, and it was flipped to closed, but it seemed like it was done in a rush. He glanced out at the street, seeing that there were a lot people crowded around a alleyway that he knew led off into a back entrance into a building. He felt a growing feeling of fear in his gut.

First of all, how did this person who killed Edgar get into his room? Did he lock his doors last night, he couldn't even remember. The fear that he had been holding back was starting to grow in his stomach as he let out a shaky breath. Someone had broken into his house, and left a message that was related to a dark poem written by Edgar Allen Poe. So not only did they know who John was, but they knew what he had named his cat. They were as cruel to murder his cat just like the cat in the poem. He griped the box tighter in his arms, which were shaking slightly now.

He glanced out at all the people who were trying to glance around each other to look into the alleyway, and when they opened slightly, John got a slight glimpse of crime scene tape wrapping around the area. That's when it hit him. He hadn't even been thinking about it. Sherlock said that a monster was going to start to murder people in a couple of days and he said that this 'monster' was interested in him. So, his was of showing interest was by killing John's cat? And, now there was a crime scene, he was starting to wonder if this Sherlock Holmes was telling the truth after all.

John griped onto the box, and he moved out of the office. He kept his posture strong, moving toward the group of people, and glancing around to hope and find someone he knew. His eyes scanned the crowd, finding April toward the front, and he felt himself relax as much as he thought he could in such a situation.

"April! Hey!" John tried to move toward her, but she wasn't even reacting to him calling her name, and then he remembered.

"Molly!" he called out, over all the noise of everyone talking, and she turned toward him. She seemed horrified as she blinked, and moved over to John quickly.

"Oh, John. I am so sorry, I left it's just. . one of our customers family members. ." She trailed off, shaking her head as she glanced back toward the group of people.

"What happened. .?" He asked softly, sort of pushing the box behind his back as he spoke, happy that she hadn't noticed the movement.

"There was a women robbed. . and raped, it's bad John. They took her to London hospital, it happened over on Osburn street, but she ran here afterward, so they sectioned off this place and then the whole of Osburn Street also. ." She said shaking her head.

John ran a hand through his hair, trying to keep himself calm, which he found weirdly easy. "Did you hear her name?" John asked placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Emma Smith. . They said her middle name too, but I was too caught up in my own thoughts," She said softly, and John just patted her shoulder gently.

"Take the day off, we can reschedule everyone's appointments tommorow" he said, and then he was gone before she could reply.

He had moved away from the crowd, moving to find the pet cemetary. He could feel the fear and sadness right on the edge, but he held it back. John soon found himself where he wanted to be. He always thought it was so nice of London to leave a open feild for people to bury there pets for free, even leaving a shovel to dig up the dirt. But, now that he was here, he could not think about how sweet it was only that it was morbid. He picked up the shovel with his free hand, and moved to a spot that didn't have a rock with markings of a name on it.

And then he started to dig.

He had soon dug a hole big enough his Edgar's box he pulled away wiping at his forehead with a sigh. He put the shovel down gently, kneeling down on the ground to move some dirt aside to make the hole a more perfect size for the box. He then leaned away, covered in dirt and sweat, he wiped at his face, knowing he had probably let a trail of mud from the damp soil in the lower ground. He sat on his legs, lifting Edgar's box and placing it gently in the ground. He lifted his sleeves up, and gently started to put dirt onto the box.

"I wouldn't want to buried. ." John's voice came out cracked, and he cleared his throat, blinking in surpirse at how he sounded.

"But, I think that the station may get mad if I started a fire in my backyard. . or at the pet cemetary. ." He said softly, chuckling as he did.

He continued to gently place the dirt on top of the box, knowing he wasn't going to get a reply.

"I guess getting burned is kind of scary also, 'always wondered if you still feel after death. . even though I know it's highly unlikely," He said soon the box wasn't visible, and he was just feeling in the edges.

He leaned away for a second, to take a breath, closing his eyes and letting out a long sigh. When he opened them, like he was hoping, Harriet was kneeling in her white little pajamas with a small frown on her face as she looked into the half full grave.

John smiled sadly, leaning forward to continue pushing in the dirt, " Hello, again," John mumbled softly, happy that the cemetary was deserted considering he was always talking to himself.

His sister glanced over at him, but stayed silent as usual, moving her gaze back to the grave.

" I am starting to wonder if I should get attached to anything," He said softly, soon the grave was full and he patted it down gently. He glanced around for some rocks, picking up a small one, and then a larger one. His sister stayed in the same spot, watching in silence as always. John moved back over and sat down silently, he carved Edgar's name into rock and then something else before placing it down. He threw the small rock aside, standing and dusting the dirt off himself. He glanced at his sister, who was slowly disapearing once again, and then back at the rock's engravings.

_'Edgar, Blind to seeing the world and its hate, but not to seeing it's happiness. .' _

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair, "I couldn't be more cheesy," He said softly, and he just stood in silence, before slowly turning and walking back to his home.

* * *

><p><span><strong>J<strong>ohn went home and laid on his bed, staring up at his ceiling in silence. He had discarded all his sheets and covers, considering some blood had dripped on them, and he knew he would have to clean them later. But, for now he was letting his mind race.

He knew Sherlock had said to go to his residence, but he knew nothing about him, only that he and his family barely ever left home. Then again, Greg knew Sherlock, and he seemed to trust him somehow. He closed his eyes, moving his fingers to rub at the rim of his nose with a soft sigh. So, his decision, was to stay in a home where a murderer could break in and kill him, or to go and talk with someone who his friend kind of trusted, but might possibly be a murderer also.

He susposed he could go with the second option. John sat up slowly, moving to his bathroom, and cleaning the dirt and mud off of his hands, he knew he still had the scent of cleaning supplies and mud, and probably blood. He just sighed, not really caring to impress Sherlock, and moved to grab his coat from earlier. He slipped the coat on, and moved out of his room, using his phone to call a carriage to pick him up.*

He waited outside, night time would soon be coming, but there was still some time left for the sun to be left out. The crime scene, was mostly deserted now, mainly detectives and some people taking notes. Soon his carriage pulled up and he climbed up, he scoffed once inside, as he looked at everything that was embroided with giant 'Ws'. He sighed softly, happy that his father had just let him borrow a carriage without asking why. He had told the coachman, to go to Holmes residence, considering he didn't know the address he was just hoping that the coachmen did. He was happy when the carriage started to move, guessing that he knew where to go. John peeked out his window, watching the people still moving along the streets, as if nothing was abnormal. Of course, murders happened all the time in London, and it was normal for them, it just wasn't for him.

John watched as the scenery started to change, there were less people on the streets, and the only shops that he could see were ones for ball room attire, and things that most people could get in the city. The stores seemed empty, yet their signs were turned to open. He didn't see anyone moving along the streets, except for maybe one or two people smoking along the alleys. His face contorted, as he leaned back slightly in his chair, as he noticed that the people who were on the streets were giving his carriage a odd look.

He noticed there were a lot of open woods in the area, and that the trees were dark, and mostly dead because of the cold weather. He was starting to get creeped out when all the stores died out, and he pulled his curtains shut, and just leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

The carriage continued on for what seemed like hours, but John knew it was only minutes. They soon came to a stop, and the coachmen came and opened his door, saying they had arrived. John took in a deep breath and climbed out, stepping down the steps onto the ground. He was greeted by a gate that had a large 'H' imprinted on it, green vines were wrapping around it that seemed to be only torn so the gate would open. There was a sidewalk, that led up to a large mansion, that he had to admit was beautiful in the most creepy way he had ever seen.

There was greenery growing up some of the residence, while bushes scattered along the edges, it had mutiple windows that had their curtains drawn tight. It seemed older, yet still seemed to be well taken care of. John could only see one entrance which was a front door, that had a couple of steps leading up to it. It was about a two minute walk to get to the mansion from the gate.

John took in a deep breath and told his coachmen he'd call when he needed to be picked up. He moved to the gates and pushed on them gently, they gave way with a loud creaking, that made John's body ache. He flinched, but moved past them, looking back and moving to slowly close the gates back. He sighed, and started to move up the paved sidewalk leading to the Mansion. He was watching his feet as he moved, noticing small cracks in the pavement, where the grass was trying to climb up and grow through.

He moved his gaze up, and noticed a small curtain had moved on one of second floor windows. He blinked, well, that was creepy. He ran a hand through his hair, trying not to think about the fear that was building in him. He continued to move forward, glancing around the yard, and moving his hands up to rub at his arms. He started to move a little quicker. The sun was down, and he really didn't want to be outside in the middle of no where at night. He soon reached the steps, and he scrunched his nose up slightly.

John just took a deep breath and moved up the steps quickly, looking over the door and reaching a hand up to knock on a pirate shaped hat knocker that he thought was funny. John flinched when he heard loud barking from the other side of the door, and he calmed.

"Redbeard, it is fine, he is a guest!" A familar rumble of a voice, and then the sound of a door opening, as John was greeted by a no longer masked Sherlock Holmes.

John blinked, as he took in the others males features that had been hidden before, well sculpted cheek bones, and a scar that ran along the right side of his face. It was small, and grazed his eyebrow slightly. John realized he was staring, and he cleared his throat.

"I. .uhm, you said to come, and so I did. ." Was all he said, and he felt like mentally slapping himself for how stupid he sounded.

But, Sherlock moved aside, and John guessed he was inviting him. John glanced up at him as he moved inside, the dog that was barking had moved somewhere cause he didn't see it anywhere. Sherlock moved past John and shut the door behind him.

"I am happy to see that you came, considering that, that must mean you have come to the terms that what I was telling was the truth," Sherlock moved past him, heading toward a area that had a two chairs with a glass table in the middle. A fireplace was on the other side of the room, and a chandlier was resting at the top of the room with small candles lit. A ladder was leaning against the wall, John was guessing that Sherlock must of used that to light the candles. Sherlock sat down in one of the chairs, glancing at John like he was a idiot, before motioning for him to take the other seat.

John blinked, and then moved over to take the seat on the opposite side of the table. Sherlock clasped his fingers together, leaning over to look at John, he moved his elbows to rest on knees. John raised his eyebrow at how Sherlock was looking at him, but took the chance to scan over Sherlock. Sherlock had on a black under shirt that had slightly puffy sleeves, with a red vests that had velvet black swirls curling around it. He had a pair of black trousers that had a silver chain hanging from them, and shoes that were pointed at the tips. After John raised his gaze back up to Sherlock, Sherlock was leaning back and he was moving to cross one leg over the other.

Sherlock let out a long breath, resting his hand against his face, as he moved his gaze back to John, "I first have to say I am sorry about your cat. ." Sherlock said softly, "I can tell you were attached," He said softly.

John could feel himself tense up, "How did you know about him?" John asked, gripping at his knees slightly.

Sherlock closed his eyes, and then he leaned forward, the words coming out of his mouth at a outrageous speed, " Your hands are red, markings from a rag also,meaning they are sore from doing something. Mainly around the finger tips, so that means you were scrubbing at something. Your coat, has cat hairs on it, black, also it has wrinkles, meaning you've worn it more then once, so those cat hairs are not from today. Plus, most of the cat hairs are gone, meaning they have fallen off from where you have been moving around. If you did not bring yourself to put on a new coat, then that could mean you were upset about something that has happened. Then, you have the smell of dirt, blood, and cleaning supplies on you. You have stubble on your face, meaning you couldn't of cut yourself shaving this morning, so that can't be where the smell of blood is from. And, knowing our murderer is the type to get personal, I am suspoing that he killed your feline. He most likely left a message considering how red your fingers are from where you were scrubbing, you didn't tell anyone because you were worried how they would react, and then you went out and buried you cat in the pet cemetary, which is why you have the smell of dirt on you. Am I correct?"

John sat there in silence for a whole twenty seconds, he knew because he was counting in his head how long it took him to register.

"That. . was amazing, I would be more amazed. . if I was in a better mood, " John finally brought himself to speak, and he watched as smile grew across Sherlock's face. And, that was the only way he could describe the way he smiled, growing up his face, he found it oddly attractive.

"Thank you, I usually get different reactions," He said clasping his hands together again, "But, we are not here to talk about my brilliance. . Would you like to tell me about the message, and about what happened to your cat exactly?" Sherlock said, and he stood leaving the room and coming back with tea. He just sat the tea down, not moving to pour it for them.

John's face contorted, and he leaned forward and poured them both a cup, offering one to Sherlock. Sherlock took it, and sipped from it silently, waiting for John to answer. John explained the message that was on his window, 'First is the Black Cat, Then comes the Fire. Cya soon. . '. Sherlock just listened as John spoke about everything that happened in detail, John made sure to stay calm throughout it all. When he was finished, he placed his tea cup down and glanced up at Sherlock.

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment as he let out a long sigh, " Let us walk, Watson," He said softly and he stood up, waiting for John to follow him. John blinked, not even correcting him for using his last name, as he moved after him.

"Since, I know you are getting curious, this man's name who is going to cause all these problems is James Morairty. . He for some reason has a interest in you. I have been looking into it for awhile, ever since your sister. . passed away. I knew that her death was odd, so I looked into it more. I cannot tell you how I have found out, because of secretive detective. . things," He said breaking from his talking to send a smirk down toward John, before looking forward and contuing to walk and talk at the same time.

" But, all you need to know, is that he is interested in you, it is obvious because of the message he has left you. And, that he is not safe. . he likes to cause others pain, that is all he cares about," Sherlock said, and as they walked John could heard what sounded like a record playing. They headed toward a staircase and slowly inclined up it.

" I do not know when his next murder will be, it could be months, years, for all we know. . but that does not mean that during that time that he will not try to attack you instead," Sherlock said as he turned toward the sound of the music. John felt the fear in him starting to build as Sherlock contuined talking.

John had wondered why he so easily had trusted this man, once he was inside the mansion, he just felt safe. John swallowed, and watched as Sherlock moved into a room that was very messy, papers thrown every where. Some papers were tacked to the wall, and then mask that Sherlock had worn to the ball was resting on a bedside table. John had guessed this was Sherlock's room. There was a piano, playing on it own, it was much louder now that they were in the room, it was about to freak out and ask why it was playing on its own when what Sherlock said next surprised him even more.

"I would highly suggest that you stay somewhere safe, and even though you do not trust me as of yet. I can assure your well being, my brother knows the Queen very well. This mansion is well protected, and if you wish to stay here we could watch over you and keep you safe until we find this, monster, Moriarty. Also, the piano is a new invention I am working on, the keys move on their own," Sherlock said looking back at John.

John blinked, he wanted him to stay here? He didn't even know Sherlock, plus wasn't Sherlock suspose to have family? Where were they exactly? He did realize that the mansion was rather large, so maybe they were just moving around. John glanced up at Sherlock with a hesitant expression. But, Sherlock just smiled gently, and he spun around seeming to be dancing to the music.

John's eyes followed him, watching as the male just moved to the music slowly, it thought it rather funny, for him to just start to dance, and he chuckled softly. But, Sherlock turned to him, bending down at the waist, and offering his hand to John, as if asking for a dance. John just raised his eyebrow at him, and rolled his eyes. He pretended to fan himself.

"Oh~ Mr. Holmes, what a great honor," He said in his best femine voice he could muster, before letting Sherlock take his hand. He let out a soft yelp of surprise, when Sherlock started to guide him across the floor, with perfect precision. He felt like he wasn't even controlling himself, he knew that he didn't know how to dance the female part of the waltz, yet Sherlock was guiding him along, and humming softly to the music.

" Anytime, my fair lady," Sherlock's mumbled softly, as he glanced down at John slightly, who was watching his feet move on their own. Sherlock chuckled softly, and soon he turned, and dipped John close to the floor.

John's eyes were wide, when he moved his arms to grip onto Sherlock gently, their faces were inches apart. John could feel Sherlock's breath on his, coffee and tea, he never thought the mixture would smell so tempting. He felt himself leaning in to the scent, right when someone cleared their voice, and then he was falling to the floor with a thump.

Luckily, John was not too far from the floor, so he might of just had a small bruise. He rubbed at the back of his head, and sat up slightly, whining a little.

"Da' bloody hell was that for. ." He trailed off, glancing up at Sherlock.

Sherlock's had stood up straighter and dusted himself off, he had his arms crossed over his chest, and seemed to have just moved his gaze away from the doorway. John glanced at the door, to see a male with slight reddish brown hair, and ivory skin. He was leaning slightly on a umbrella and glancing over John with a smile.

"I see you have welcomed yourself to our home, I will see to it that one of our butlers sets you up a room." He said softly, there was a sound of papers and rustling down the hall.

"Mycroft! Is Sherlock in there?" John heard Greg's voice, blinking. He knew that Greg knew Sherlock, but he didn't know that he was close with anyone else in the family.

Greg appeared at the door, slightly out of breath. He glanced at Sherlock and glared, "Sherlock! How many bloody times do I have to tell you, if I give you these papers, you have to organi-" He paused mid-sentence as he glanced down at John, his eyes widening.

"John, Oh. . Hello," Greg said softly, he was holding a pile of papers in one hand, and Sherlock moved past John on the floor to take them, and move older papers aside on his desk to put the new ones there.

John felt inane and ridiculous. He had tried to. . kiss Sherlock and he didn't even know anything about him. John stood up and brushed himself off, moving out of the room in silence. Greg glanced after him letting out a sigh.

"Gregory, it is best you start to stay here also, you are close with us, Moriarty will start to hunt for you too," Mycroft spoke swiftly, and Greg just mumbled something under his breath as he moved after John.

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><p>John moved back down the stairs, to where he and Sherlock were sitting earlier. He sat down on the chair he was sitting in earliar, sighing softly, he heard footsteps moving down the stairs quickly. He was worried at first to see who it was, but was happy to see it was Greg, he smiled at him as Greg moved to sit at the chair across from him.<p>

"They're not so bad," Greg mumbled softly, pulling at his tie, " Mycroft, he's the one with the umbrella, he's pretty nice, he's Sherlock's brother" Greg said softly, and he stretched out.

John scoffed softly, "As long as I can stay as far away from Sherlock as possible then I am fine, It makes me mad they just assumed I am staying here." He said softly.

Greg glanced over at him, and then ran a hand through his hair, " At least they are trying to keep you safe, You are staying though right?" Greg said softly, and John just nodded after a couple seconds of hesitation. John may be stubborn, but he wasn't going to risk his safety, and he felt he would be the most safe here.

They sat there in silence, Greg moved at one point to start the fire, and then at another to get some fresh tea. When it started to get even darker outisde, two butlers came out and escorted Greg and John to their rooms. John told Greg goodnight and Greg told him he'd see him in the morning.

The butler showed John around his room, explaining the little things like that there were clothes of various sizes for him to wear, and a bathroom inside the room. Once the butler was finished explaining he left a key so John could lock his door and then left the room.

John sighed, moving to the bed and just laying there for a moment in silence. He wondered why he so easily felt safe here, or why he so easily felt safe around Sherlock. He closed his eyes and after a couple of minutes passed, he grabbed the key and forced himself up. He moved to his dresser and rummaged around, pulling out a pair of black silk pajamas. He moved to the door and locked it before he undressed, folding his old clothes, and then pulling the pajamas on. He had chose a size that were slightly baggy so they were more comfortable. Once he was finished getting dressed for bed, he moved to unlock the door, in case they had some kind of time where they wanted him awake.

He then moved back to his bed, placing the key down. He felt like this day was one of his longest, he crawled up under the covers, the bed feeling too large for one. He slowly closed his eyes sleep coming over him, he realized that he had forgotten to blow out of his candle. He was on the verge of going to sleep, right when air brushed his cheek, and then candle went out, him falling under right after.

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><p>* So I know phones weren't around, but we just have to let that one slip cause I want him to ride in his fathers coach and I can't think of another way for him to get a hold of the coachmen.<p>

Holmes . /images/duncow_  
>Sherlock's outfit (upper) cgiimg-thing?.out=jpg&size=l&tid=48398727

I am not very proud of this chapter, but ugh. Whatevers. Sorry guys if this is crappy and junk.

I also really appreciate the reviews, it helps me keep writing~  
>Also, I have a tumblr .com<br>You can ask me anything on there~


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Name: Then**

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><p><strong><span>J<span>**ohn found himself waking early the next morning, feeling the sunlight leaking through the curtains and onto his face. It took him a second to register where he was again and then memories of everything that had happened the previous day started to flood his head. He had to take a deep breath to steady his mind, closing his eyes, and casting his arm over them gently. He had woken times in the night, tossing and turning, at the thoughts of why he had so easily trusted a stranger and just stayed at his home. He had kept telling himself that it was because Greg knew the Holmes and that had reassured him _some_.

He let out a long breath, surprised to also remember that he had not had a nightmare or a dream the night before that he could remember. He had guessed that it was because he was sleeping on and off the entire night. He sat up slowly, the bed sheets sliding down his chest to rest above his pelvis in a glossy movement. He rubbed at his eyes, sitting up in the middle of the large bed that he now realized had curtains hanging around the edges that were pulled up. His face contorted slightly, he could not help thinking of how luxurious the Holmes manor was. He was guessing it had something to do with how Sherlock mentioned his brother's relation's to the queen. He just sighed, leaned back against the headboard, flinching and letting out a soft yelp when a bell connected to the top of the headboard rang.

Butlers started to gracefully move inside his room, one pushing a cart that had what look like breakfest on it, one holding a piece of paper that had ink scrawled across it, while the others seemed to be holding hairbrushes. They moved to the edge of his bed, the one with the piece of paper held it out to John, bowing slightly as he did.

John was sure that his face was really scrunched up now, he had not had butlers bring him breakfest since he was living with his Father. He took the paper and glanced over what it said, which was pretty simple.

**" Dear John,**

**I must apologize for my rude behaviour yesterday afternoon. I should not have let you fall, I would have apologized then, but I am not a big fan of my brother. Once again, I am sorry.**

** My Sincerest Apologies,**

** SH "**

John let out a soft sigh, but he smiled gently, only wondering why the other male had not apologized in person. He did not have much time to think because the butlers with the hairbrushes were all over him. They had pulled the paper from his hands and were not so gently brushing out his hair. Another was quickly moving down his buttons. He was only happy to say that they were all male, and they had plain faces as they moved.

"H-Hey! I did not say I needed help to dress myself, bl-bloody hell, don't touch my shoulder so roughly!" He said, a soft giggle releasing from him, when one of them lifted him to his feet by grabbing his sides. He was ticklish, problem? He let out a soft complaint, his hair had been standing up everywhere from his rough sleep the night before. They were trying to brush it out, as another one moved to discard his pants. He stopped complaining just letting them do as they wished, knowing Sherlock had probably done it as a apology, even though he didn't need it. He had just been in his boxers when a dishelved looking Greg had been moving by his opened door.

He was holding a cup of tea that was letting off steam, he seemed like he had been planning to keep walking, but his gaze lazily turned into John's room before he blinked in confusion and paused.

"Well, you looked like you got the tidbit of the day," Greg actually pouted, his hair was pointing up slightly too, but he didn't have bags under his eyes that John knew were resting under his.

Greg's pouting face contorted slightly when his eyes moved to John's shoulder. John didn't have to look, he knew what was there. It was a scar he had gotten in the coal mines, he had been on ground level, when people above him were passing some of the largest pieces of coal they had. One of the youngers dropped the pieces when it cut his finger, John had just so happened to be stretching back and it landed flat on his shoulder. He fell back on the ground and had to have someone else come and haul the piece off of him.

Greg glanced at the scar a little longer, but soon the Butlers were slipping clothes on John, and he broke his gaze away.

Greg just laughed, "Well, mate, enjoy the pleasure," He said moving down the hall again before John could meet his gaze.

The butlers continued to dress him when he was fully dressed, some of them left, only leaving two in the room with him. They had not spoken the whole time, so he tried to chat with them, clearing his throat.

"So, what are your names?" He asked softly, one of the butlers placed a hand on his good shoulder and moved him to a mirror. He was surprised at how he had actually cared to now touch his scar, and he smiled at that.

The one who hadn't guided him over exchanged a look with the other and they sighed.

The one with his hand on his good shoulder spoke first.

"I am Micheal,"

"And I am Thomas, but we are not suspose to talk much to you, or anyone for that matter," Thomas moved to the restroom, getting a jar of water and a rag, making John blink in confusion.

"Oh, alright then," He said, not talking anymore in case he would get them in trouble. He watched as Thomas soaked the rag with water only letting some wash back into the sink. He moved back in and slowly started to push John's hair back out of his face, until it stuck there. He had never worn his hair like that, but he did have to say that he looked like a villian out of a movie. He chuckled, watching as Thomas dabbed the rag in the jar getting more water on it. Micheal moved to brush the hair, but gently seeming to want it to sit up slightly. He still found this funny, this did not seem like something Sherlock would do as a apology. But, he was fine with it, it was nice to see himself so dressed up.

When they finished with his hair, he thought they were finished, but Thomas took the John and tossed out the dirty water. Micheal guided John to the bathroom and then he reached around grabbing a straight razor and shaving cream.

John swallowed. Now, that made him slightly nervous. Thomas moved him over to a chair and put shaving cream on him gently, pulling on his shoulders so he leaned back.

"I hope you two arn't demon barber's or anything," John said chuckling, memories from when he was younger were flashing through his head of blood staini-He pushed the thoughts away, glancing up at them, as he tapped his fingers.

They chuckled and Thomas ran the razor along his jaw very easily, making John relax with how gentle he was.

"Of course we are not barbers, but we know what we are doing," He said simply, continuing his job.

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><p>After Thomas and Micheal had finished with him, they left and John ate the food that was brought to him. It was really good and he had started to wonder if Sherlock had made it, or if the butlers had done that too. Who was he kidding, of course Sherlock would not have made food for a guest when he had butlers to do it. And why did he think of Sherlock? Why not , or Greg, or anyone. He stood when he was finished and almost moved a hand to ruffle his hair but stopped himself as he remembered the work Thomas and Micheal had done.<p>

He moved over to the mirror and glanced himself over, he did have to say he looked pretty good. It was a simple outfit, but it was simple and expensive, and he could tell. They had given him a hat to where if he wanted. He was guessing that Sherlock was planning to go somewhere today, but he could not guess where. He did not think the butlers would of dressed him up to sit around just because Sherlock wanted John to walk around looking good.

"Got it! Oh _yes. _Brillant!" John flinched when he heard a voice from down the hall, he instinctivlly moved out of his room. There was noise coming from down the hall of papers moving, and chattering.

He kept following it until he came into a outragously large library, he could not see how someone could have so many books, or how they could get so many. He gaped a second, before looking toward the sounds he heard.

Sherlock was standing on a table, a dressing gown wrapping around him, papers everywhere. Greg and Mycroft were sitting beside each other on a couch in front of the standing-on-table Sherlock. Maybe Sherlock wasn't planning on going out, he looked like he had just woke up. His hair was messy and he was looking through papers. Greg glanced at John and blinked.

"You look great, Mate" Greg said, he was just wearing his pajamas still like Sherlock. John would have felt out of place if not for Mycroft who was dressed for the day like John.

Sherlock's gaze moved to John as if he was confused, "You, who. ." He said looking confused, but then his eyes darted to his brother.

"Mycroft,"

"My dear, little brother?" Mycroft replied glancing up at Sherlock who was still standing on the table for reasons John could not understand.

"Why did you get him dressed up like that?" Sherlock asked stepping down from the table and tossing pictures of what seemed to be from a crime scene.

John blinked, so it wasn't Sherlock who had gotten the butlers for him, so had Sherlock even written the apology? He was confused, then, why did Sherlock care if John was dressed up, they barely knew each other. He wondered why Sherlock and Mycroft were so rude with each other, also, even though it was really none of his business.

"So, did you even write that note to me? Or was that just you meddling, Mycroft?" John said, he didn't know why he was so mad, but it just made him pissed that Mycroft might have done something like that. He wasn't going to take this time to be scared to stand up for himself, either, especially if he was going to have to live with them.

Sherlock's face contorted at the mention of the letter and he let out a sigh, "No, I had written the letter, but I had planned to keep it to myself. It seems Mycroft took it into his own hands and gave it to you without my permission." He said softly, glancing over at John, his head tilting slightly. "He must of thought that if the butlers dressed you up that I would go out,"

Sherlock paused softly, "I am thinking about it, but not cause of you, Mycroft," He said glaring at his brother.

He sighed, his eyes moving from John's face slowly to his hair. He moved over and ruffled it so it fell back over his face,"Better," was all he said, as he clasped his hands together.

"You should learn to mind your own buisness more, but I know that won't happen, " Sherlock said turning his back to John to look at his brother again.

"I just know that you have already fallen again, so I thougt I would help," Mycroft said simply, and Sherlock stayed silent.

John was more confused then he had been in a long time, and slightly upset that Sherlock had messed up his hair. But, he could not ignore the feeling in his stomach he had gotten when he touched his head so gently. He was starting to scare himself, was he wanting to be friends with Sherlock? Was Sherlock wanting to be friends with him? Even worse, it seemed like Sherlock was flirting with him, and John was reacting. John cleared his throat at Mycroft's last comment.

"Anyway, Um, what were you talking about," He said pausing to nod his head toward all the papers on the table and floor. "Earlier before I came in,"

Sherlock climbed over the table, moving to sit on the couch across from Greg's and Mycroft's, he pulled his legs up to rest in front of him. He had a small smile on his face when John asked that question, and he opened to answer but Greg interuped.

"We were going over a case, Sherlock had just figured something out, and that was why he was vociferating like a idiot," Greg mumbled over his tea, still looking pretty much the same as he did earlier, dishelved and tired.

Sherlock seemed to actually pout at that, seeming to want to explain what he had figured out. John sighed, moving to sit beside Sherlock, he immediately felt everyone staring at him, and going a little tense also, as if wating for him to say something. He blinked, glancing at them in confusion.

"So, uh, what did you figure out, Sherlock," Well, whatever they were expecting him to say that was not it. They relaxed and Mycroft even quirked his eyebrow as if saying, 'Of course.'

John was feeling uncomfortable as if everyone knew something he didn't, and as if they thought it was even comedic that he did not know. The thought slipped as Sherlock started to speak.

" Lestrade brought me a case on a suicde. They could not figure out how this woman commited suicde. The room had no tables, no windows, the doors had been removed, leaving only door ways. . Nothing she could lean on to get up and hang herself. Which is, by the way how she had decided to end her life." he paused handing pictures to John, and talking so quickly that John had to speed up his thinking process. "But!" he said moving to stand, and showing John a picture of a puddle below the woman's hanging body, "There was a puddle below her body, which means. ." Sherlock said, he tucked his hands into his dressing gown pockets, and he swung down so his face was inches from John's, seeming to want to see if John could figure it out.

John blinked in surprise at the close proximity, and stayed silent a moment. He looked at the pictures Sherlock had handed him as he let his mind race. It had to be something that would fit the doorway where the doors were removed. He glanced up at the standing Sherlock, "Ice. .like, big Ice cubes, or something? She stood on them, and tied the rope around her neck and waited until the ice melted to hang herself," John explained. Sherlock's eyes flashed something that John could not place. Sherlock nodded, leaning away a small grin on his face.

"Ice slabs," He said glancing at Greg, who had gotten a piece of paper to write down the description to take back to the station.

"Thanks guys," He said, pulling his legs up to rest on the couch with him, "I'll take all of it to the station later," He said sighing to look at the mess of all of the papers Sherlock had made.

Sherlock of course did not to seem to care that Greg was going to have and sort through it all.

Mycroft,though, stood up and started to organize the papers. Greg glanced at him, standing up and they both worked to organize the papers, speaking only silently to ask where things went. Sherlock soon left the room, and John felt weirdly awkward in the room with Greg and Mycroft. So, John trailed out after Sherlock, but he went a seperate way. He didn't want Sherlock to think he was following him or anything.

John started to wander around the large mansion, his thoughts were elsewhere, and before he knew it, he had no idea where he was. He was in a long hallway, he blinked, and looked back where he had come from and went that way instead. There seemed to be a turn toward the end that headed back to the main area of the manor, so he moved toward it, looking at his feet as he did.

He soon bumped into something hard, and when he glanced up the first thing he saw was red. He hadn't had a attack in a long time, but the red pattern on the peron in front of him's chest triggered the memory of that. . thing covered in blood from his childhood room. He tensed up immediatly, and started to tumble back, but a hand grabbed at his arm. He screeched out in terror, he started to breath heavier, as he tried to hit at the other chest roughly.

"No! _No,_ get away! Please. . Oh, God. . Jus-" He could feel tears coming to his eyes, when the hand on his arm grabbed at his hands that were hitting at the enemy's chest. The hands holding his fist pulled him forward gently, and held him, just held him. John's breathing was raspy, his throat stinging from the tears that he had kept from slidding down his cheek.

"Shh, John. It's me, no one else, you are safe here, I promise," and for once John could feel the rumble of the voice, his ear resting on who he now knew wasn't a enemy, but was Sherlock. His fists soon turned into open palms, and he gripped at Sherlock's shirt tightly, taking heavy breaths as he tried to erase the memories from his head. He wanted to rip the shirt that has triggered his panic attack, but he slowly moved his arms to just wrap around Sherlock's back as he continued to take deep breaths, doing his best to keep from crying.

Sherlock moved a gentle hand to rest on John's head, the other hand moving to the small of his back. He did not try to pull him closer, letting John stand as he pleased. He spoke gentle words of comfort as John slowly calmed down from the panic attack.

It did not take much longer and John was pulling away slowly, he felt Sherlock's warmth leave him, and was slightly upset but he said nothing of it. He glanced anywhere other then the male infront of him.

"I am sorry, I haven't. . had a panic attack in a long time. I came around the. . corner and the first thing I saw was your red shirt, and it triggered my memories," He said softly, keeping his gaze on his feet, until he felt long cold fingers pull at his chin so he was looking up at Sherlock.

"_Never_, apologize, for touching me. . or for having a panic attack. I will always be here to keep you safe." He said so softly it was comforting and John felt himself getting lost in Sherlock's gaze, as Sherlock pulled his fingers away slowly.

"I will go change out of this shirt and then we can go out for a walk," Sherlock said turning and glancing over his shoulder at John, seeming to check if he was okay.

John hadn't even noticed that he was dressed for the day until he was walking away. His gaze wandered over Sherlock as he walked away realizing that Sherlock's fingers had just been on his chin. He moved his hand to his chin, rubbing the spot. He was scaring himself more by the minute.

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><p><strong><span>A<span>**fter Sherlock had walked off, John had moved off to wait outside his room for him to change. He was letting his mind wander and he started to think, why him? He was sure that there were a lot people that Sherlock had seen in danger, it was obvious from the way he could read things and people so easily. So, why had Sherlock so randomly decided to take John in and 'protect' him in his mansion? John thought deeper into it, Sherlock was touchy with him, maybe he had been secretly stalking John. And, when Sherlock figured out about this Moriarty being interested in him, he stepped in. John nodded, yeah, of course, _not_. He sighed, he was so stupid. He really did want to know why he was so different. He felt like he knew so much about Sherlock, yet he barely knew him.

He heard the sound of foot steps and then Sherlock stepped out and glanced down at John as he shut his door.

"Hello, ready to head out?" Sherlock asked and before he got a answer he started to move down the hall, expecting John to follow.

"Where are we going, exactly?" John asked, knowing Sherlock was probably not expecting a answer, as he jogged a little to catch up and walk beside the other.

"You will see,"

Before they left, Sherlock insisted that John put on a jacket, so he slipped on one of the ones on the coat rack, watching as Sherlock slipped on a long trenchcoat. They had made their way through some of the woods, soon coming to a gate that had a key lock in it, a large building resting behind the gate. It really made John wonder how much land there must be.

Sherlock lifted slender fingers to the gate, holding a small silver key and pushing it into the lock. He was soon pushing the gate open and gesturing for John to continue to follow him. John quickly did and they made their way to the building. They moved to the front of the building, noticing now that it was black, and had some bricks falling off, more vines were moving around it then the actual mansion. Sherlock moved to the door, glancing back at John. He laid his hand on the door handle, his fingers curling around it like a vine before he turned it, and pushed it forward gently.

There were no windows at all in the room, so it was pitch black and John could not see what was in the room. Sherlock moved inside turning to the side, and disapearing into the darkness, soon appearing again holding a box of matches and a candle that was lit. He held it out for John, and John took it gingerly, as he stepped in after Sherlock. He shut the door behind him, watching as Sherlock moved around the room lighting candles that were resting along the walls.

Soon, the whole room was lit up and John knew he was gaping because Sherlock was chuckling softly. There were tons of instruments everywhere, violins, cellos, pianos. What surprised John the most is that it was organized in a very orderly way. Their were different types of violins making their way up half of one wall, cellos resting below them, while the different types of pianos were on the floor. A row of staircases led up along the edge of the room that he was guessing was the way to get to the violins and cellos on top. There was a archway in front of each of rows so you could walk across to get to them, also.

But, that was just one side of the room, on the other were desks full of sheet music that had notes scrawled across them, still very organized. He moved to run his hand along one of the pianos, noticing there wasn't even a speck of dust.

"Is this all yours? Do you. . clean it yourself? Or do the butlers clean it. .? I mean. . your room, is pretty messy," John said softly, lifting his head to look at all of the violins and cellos that were higher up.

"The butlers are not allowed to come in here or in my room, I keep my own things organized in my own way," He said softly and when John glanced at him, he could not explain the look he had on his face. A bright smile that lit up his whole face, pure joy.

Sherlock had moved up the stairs and along a walk way to pick up a specific violin. He moved down the staircase toward John the smile still on his face as he ran his hands over the violin.

John placed his candle down as he glanced over the violin noticing a small crack in it, but not mentioning it. He was looking over the music sheets on the other side of the room, but he had not moved there yet.

"This is my favorite instrument in here, and this violin specifically also, I have had it for awhile. Hence the small crack, I dropped it when I was younger, and I decided to just keep the small crack in it for a memory," He said softly and he rolled his eyes.

" I sometimes sound so sentimental I want to be sick, on another note, I wrote those, if you were wondering, which I am pretty sure you were," Sherlock stated, placing the violin on the table gently.

John watched as Sherlock moved over to all the music sheets with long strides, getting there so quickly that John just jogged over after him. Sherlock moved through one pile stated 'Eet' placing it aside, and then moving through other music sheets. John moved to stand beside Sherlock as he glanced through the music.

John soon cleared his throat, "So, why are you so interested in music. .? I mean, I don't really know much about you and I think we should know some about each other if I am going to be staying here," he spoke without looking up, he felt nervous, so he just continued like it was a nonchalant question, even though it was.

Sherlock was silent for a moment, before his low voice seeped out, "I do not really know, I just have always liked it. It relaxes me, helps me think, and calms my mind. ." He said the look from earlier of joy rising to his face, along with the smile.

John glanced up at him and just seeing him smile like that made him smile also, " I never really had a hobby or anything like that. I sang a little when I was really young, but that was it." He looked back down glancing over some music as he spoke.

Sherlock glanced over at John and he could feel his gaze on him but he did not look over at him. "What is it that you wish to know about me?" Sherlock asked softly, pulling away from the music sheets and heading toward the back of the building.

John was slightly confused on what he was doing, but it resolved when he saw Sherlock pulling chairs out of a back door and setting them in front of each other. He sat in one, intertwining his fingers together and placing his elbows on his knees. Sherlock glanced over at John, giving him a look like he was a idiot, before gesturing for him to go and sit in the chair across from him. John blinked and scurried across to sit in the chair across from him, making Sherlock raise a eyebrow at him.

John soon cleared his throat, going back to the previous question Sherlock had asked, "Well. .um, I guess something simple first," He said softly, running a hand through his hair and ruffling it up.

"What is your favourite colour?" He asked leaning back in his chair and glancing over at Sherlock.

"My favourite colour. .? I have never really thought of something like that, but I could say that I own a lot things that are the colour blue. ." He said softly, moving his chin to rest on his intertwined fingers. "What is _your_ favourtie colour, John?" Sherlock asked, quirking his eyebrow.

John blinked, he hadn't expected Sherlock to ask questions back, "Oh, well. . I guess green," he said rubbing at the back of his head nervously.

"Anyway, let me think about something else I want to know. ." he said rubbing at his chin in thought, he could feel Sherlock's eyes on him again and he once again didn't meet his gaze until he thought of something to ask.

"Why are you so interested in doing the cases for Greg?" John asked softly, moving to rest his gaze back on Sherlock.

"It bothers me that they are so inane that they cannot see the simplest things to figure them out, plus, if I didn't let my mind work, I would have a lot of worriments," Sherlock said, waving his hand in dislike at the first part of his sentence.

John's face contorted slightly, "What kind of worriments?" he asked leaning forward slightly in his chair, he didn't know why but he was slightly curious what kind of problems Sherlock would have if he was not using his mind somehow.

" Just occasional headaches, nothing too big, some panic attacks where I had to, in the past, resort to drug usage to calm my racing mind,"

"You don't do that anymore, of course? I mean, not saying I would not want to be your friend because of the drugs, it's just. . they are bad for you. Even if some may be legal, I really don't agree with them, they are really bad for your health," John said looking over Sherlock's face, so when he answered he could try and tell if he was lying.

"I am not using them anymore, no." He paused, glancing over John, and raising his eyebrow.

A small grin came over Sherlock's features, "Oh? So, we are already friends in your mind, Mr. Watson, how quick of you to assume,"

John blinked and he actually felt a odd heat raise to his cheeks, "I. . had just thought, I mean, it is your deci-"

"No, I am just pestering you. I was already thinking of you as a friend, John" He said, laughing softly.

John felt himself calm down and he was soon laughing also, he was starting to feel more at home when he was around Sherlock. He couldn't decide if that was a bad thing or not.

* * *

><p>Sherlock and John had continue to talk in the instrument building. Sherlock explained that he had parents but they usually were out traveling and that was where they were now. He had also said that the reason for him rarely leaving was because he liked to deduce people like he had John when he had arrived, and that most people didn't react so nicely. Sherlock had said that his brother stayed home also, because he said he had to watch over Sherlock all the time, and the only time his brother left was to pick up Greg when he needed a ride to the manor.<p>

John had then explained some about himself to Sherlock. About how his father was a old selfish prune, and that his mother had died from the measles. He explained he didn't really like either of his parents, and that there wasn't anything he could put up for them in their defense. And, for the first time in a very long time, he talked about his sister. He explained how she was the only person in his family that he was close to. He explained that after she had passed away John had not been able to get into a relationship with anyone and let it work out. Everyone he had been with had failed, because he just couldn't get close with anyone. He even explained how he had the visions of his sister.

"Sorry. . I know it sounds weird," He said softly after he had explained about his sister, glancing at Sherlock warily. He was surprised at himself for telling him.

Sherlock shook his head, putting up a small smile, "Of course not, I would rather be friends with someone who is 'weird', then someone who is exactly the same as everyone else,"

When they couldn't think of anything else to tell each other, they just had small talk, talking about some cases Sherlock had. Sherlock starting to talk in his fast paced voice that John was starting to pick up on, while John first explained how he was a dentist, and then told a story about drunk people coming in for their appointments.

Before they knew it, the door leading outside was no longer leaking sunlight through the crack underneath it. Sherlock stood up and stretched and John did also, both of them pulling the chairs they were resting in and putting them away. John glanced over at Sherlock's violin that was resting still on the table where he had placed it.

"Are you going to put that up?" John asked glancing over at Shelock who was picking up the trench coat he had discarded during their talking.

Sherlock glanced over at it, slipping his jacket on, and shaking his head no. " I plan to come down here in the morning and practice my playing, there is no point to put it away when I will be taking it out immediately in the morning," He said sending a small smile toward John.

John just nodded, watching as Sherlock moved around and started to blow out all the candles. John followed after him and started to blow out all the candles in the room also. Sherlock headed out first and John moved after him, glancing back at the room as he shut the door. They headed back to the mansion, neither of them said anything at first, just enjoying the night silence. They made it to the gate and Sherlock pushed it open gently, holding it open for John to step through. Sherlock locked the gate and they continued their walk back to the mansion. Sherlock soon broke the silence.

"Would you like to look at some cases with me when we get back before we go to sleep for the night?" Sherlock asked, not looking down at John as they walked.

John stayed silent for a moment, glancing up at Sherlock, a small smile raising to his face. He was a little confused why he was so happy to be asked that, but he did not dwell on it.

"Sure," John said softly, pulling his gaze away from Sherlock, and missing the small smile that had risen to the ivory face walking beside him.

* * *

><p>They made it back to the mansion and had placed themselves on a couch. Both of them had their backs resting against the armrest their bodies turned inward and facing each other, knees pulled up slightly to their chests. John was looking through pictures of a victim, while Sherlock was looking over descriptions of what had happened exactly.<p>

Sherlock was in the middle of reading, when John felt something proding to move underneath his rear. He flinched tensing slightly, and glancing downward. Sherlock's legs had stretched out and his feet were trying to scoot under John and rest there. John moved his gaze to Sherlock in confusion, but Sherlock was still reading.

"What are you doing, Sherlock?" John interupted him, and Sherlock glanced up at him with a look of slight annoyance.

"My feet are cold," He said simply, then he let his eyes scan the paper again, starting to read again in his deep baritone.

John had stopped listening, his face contorting in confusion. He had never really had a friend other then Greg, and he and Greg didn't spend much alone time together. He let out a sigh, and then he moved his own legs to rest in the now open lap of Sherlock's. He waited for Sherlock to say something, but he did not comment, continuing to read about the case, his eyes scanning the page.

They figured out about two or three cases, a butler bringing tea in for them at some point. Sherlock exclaimed mutiple times when he figured out something, but he didn't moved his position. He had moved his feet around a lot trying to get comfortable, John was guessing, and John had to clear his throat to try and tell Sherlock that it was uncomfortable for him, and he soon stopped. John had felt the heat rise to his cheeks at some points and he had soon guessed that he must be flustered. At those points he would lean back and bring the papers up to hide his face so Sherlock would not see. Even though Sherlock's feet resting under him felt a little new to him, he did find it comfortable.

It got even darker outside and John felt a yawn coming over him. Sherlock was in the middle of reading but he glanced up at John and stretched, "We should head to sleep, it is late," He said softly and John nodded. John lifted his legs slowly and then Sherlock scooted his feet out from under John. They stood up and filed the cases where they belonged.

"Goodnight, John," Sherlock said, smiling at him gently, "I enjoyed doing the cases with you,"

"Night to you too, we should do more tommorow, or something," John added, chuckling and rubbing at the back of his head. Sherlock just nodded, and turned away heading off to his room. John sighed he was tired, but it was the good type, when you had spent your day wisely. He headed off to his room.

He moved in slowly, grabbing the box of maxes, to light the candle on his bedside and moving to his dresser. He slipped off his clothes folding them and putting them on top of the dresser. He moved to one of the lower drawers, grabbing a shirt that looked like it might fit a hippo, and buttoning it up. He didn't care to slip on a pair of pants, just sleeping in his boxers and the extra baggy button up shirt. He brought the candle to his bedside table and laid down blowing it out as he did. He let out a long sigh, as small smile coming to his face as he got under the covers. He really enjoyed spending time with Sherlock, he had decided that enjoying feeling at home with him was not a bad thing. He slowly drifted off to sleep again, happy to be staying somewhere where he felt safe.

* * *

><p>John found himself waking to light seeping through the window against the back of his room. He sat up with slight confusion, he knew it could not be morning. His eyes took a second to adjust before and he found himself moving before he had time to think. He stumbled out of his room, falling along the pitch black hallway, the home was silent like no one was in it. He didn't care to change, or put shoes on. He slammed out the front door, his breaths causing puffs of white as he slammed his feet against the ground racing toward the black gate he and Sherlock had went through earlier that day. He had moved up to it, expecting to have to jump over it, but it was open. He pushed through it without hesitation. Noticing three people standing in front of the brick building that was up in flames, he raced forward, and kept racing till he could see their faces and feel the heat.<p>

Sherlock, Mycroft, and Greg all standing around still in their pajamas. He didn't care to look at the others, his gaze fell on Sherlock, his face was of pure agony.

Fire, _then comes the fire,_ first the black cat. . This was his fault, he had done this, because he had come here. Memories of Sherlock's magnificently happy smile swarmed in his head.

That was all it took.

He was out of breath, when he ran forward hearing someone yell his name, as he slammed into the front door, feeling it collapse before him as he fell forward into the flames.

* * *

><p>John's outfit:<br>Sorry if anything isn't 1800's enough based. .  
>That was worded weirdly.<br>Please read and review, it's hard for me to tell if anyone is reading~  
>But, hell, this chapter was pretty long and you got two updates in a weak, yay.<p> 


	7. Notes

Okay, maybe I can get all of you guys' attention like this. Just some things I want to tell you that is important. I have been telling you them in the notes but I want to repeat them all here so you know so here we go.

* * *

><p><em><strong><span>T<span>**__hings you should know .3._

*I have a ao3 account, where I post pictures for characters outfits. You may have seen in the notes where I would put(John's outfit) but nothing would be after that, that is because links don't work here, but if you go to ao3 the links work there, it's pretty simple. It doesn't benefit me in anyway, it's only for you guys. There is also a picture of the Holmes Manor that you can't see unless you go there and maybe something I am forgetting I don't know. '

*I have two tumblrs. One is my personal, lizziefrizze then the tumblr usual. On my personal, you can find thing about me like my name etc, and what I look like. I post superwholock and occasional anime pictures. I am on that one more and I can answer questions about this fanfiction there also. My other tumblr is,ohmycroftiness, it is pretty much all Sherlock and I don't post anything personal on it. But, you can ask me question on it also. If this fanfiction gets popular enough to where people want to do fan art, you can of course send them to me here, or on one of my tumblrs. And you of course have permission to do that, if you want. If you need the exact links to my tumblrs they are on my profile

*So, when it comes to updates, they are most likely going to be random. I am doing homeschool, so I am usually at home. I have come up with a ending for this story, just not all the little in between parts, so that's what I have to brainstorm about. But, it usually won't take more no more then 2 weeks at most to update a new chapter unless something comes up or I have serious writer's block.

*Also, my pen name is Croftiness, if you ever are talking about me, even though I know it is too early. HAH, I can hope. .

Well, if you need anything else, message me on my tumblr, or here. (tumblrplswhut)

And thankyouthankyouthankyou for all the reviews, it really makes me happy to get on here and see that I have a new review I do have to give a shout out to JXeleven for reviewing every chapter on almost every chapter I have posted. It means a lot to me, thank you~

Also, I am not going to read this over for errors, it's just a personal note to you guys, so yeah. Thank you for reading and I'll see you at our next update 3


	8. News

*Edit*

So I have news. Considering that this story is not very popular and that I am kind of busy in real, I am going to take some time to just finish writing the story out.

When I do finish writing each chapter I will just post them on here.

I don't know how long it will take, but I usually write weekly.

I hope more people will read while I am finishing up.

Cya soon!


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